by Camille Eide
So long, Dad, nice visiting with you. Hope things turn around for you soon.
He didn’t owe them anything. John and Leia Jacobs had turned their backs on him and abandoned him like trash.
“She’ll go to a state place when I’m gone. You ever been to one of those?”
Joe shook his head. “What do you mean, gone?”
John turned a glassy stare at Joe. “I’m dying. It’s my heart.”
“Joey?” Fiona’s cheeks were wet. “Is that you, Joey?”
Her tear-stained face launched a barrage of disturbing images through his mind like a too-graphic movie, bringing with them a rush of guilt and shame.
She don’t care, Joey. Hit her. She can’t feel nothin’ …
Joe strode to the kitchen sink and stood amidst crusted plates and garbage, steeling himself against the memory. But he couldn’t escape it. The tears streaming down Fiona’s bewildered young face, his handprint on her cheek turning an angry red. Rube’s cruel laugh. The sadistic teenager’s threats to hurt Joe and Ben if he didn’t do what he said. A sick, cold-blooded punk left in charge every day to terrorize the younger and weaker ones.
“Joey?” Fiona called out from the other room.
“Just … getting a drink,” Joe answered, voice crackling.
“No,” John said. “Don’t drink the water. You better go. You shouldn’t be here.”
Joe turned at the sound of wheels in the kitchen.
John’s glassy yellow eyes found his. His thin lips trembled. “I always thought you’d be better off someplace else, Joey.” His eyes darted away. “I hoped, anyway.”
Joe’s heartbeat kicked up a gear. “So you knew your wife was lying? You knew I didn’t do the things she accused me of?”
John didn’t answer, but nodded toward Fiona. “Look at her. She tries to take care of me now, but she’s the one who needs care. Got the mind of a little kid. She don’t understand why everyone’s gone. Why we can’t drive to the store for corn flakes and milk. She don’t know I’m dying. But she remembers happy times.” John looked up at Joe. “And she still asks for you.”
Me? After what I did?
Fiona bumped into her father’s chair. Her head drooped to one side. “I miss Joey. Where’d he go, Dad? Is he okay?”
“He grew up, Fee. Joey’s a man now.”
“He’s a man now?”
“Yeah.” John glanced at Joe and nodded. “He turned out a real fine man.”
Joe mumbled something about coming back to visit soon and let himself out.
And all but ran to the Suburban.
* * *
Sue chuckled at the sight of Joe asleep at the wheel and tapped on the passenger window.
He jerked, then fumbled with the lock button.
Before he could get out, she opened her door and hoisted herself up. Good thing she’d taken pain meds before therapy this time. “Sorry it took so long. At least you got a nap out of it.” She grinned. “Good news—I can lose the brace.”
He fired up the Suburban, but instead of driving, he just sat there staring at the instrument panel, white-knuckling the wheel.
“What’s wrong?” And what’s that horrid smell?
“Nothing.” He put the gearshift in reverse.
She laid a hand on his arm. “Hold on.”
Joe glanced at her hand, the muscles in his jaw rippling. “I saw them.”
Realizing she was still touching him, Sue slid her hand away. “Want to talk about it?”
He met her gaze. “I couldn’t wait to get away.”
She nodded. Seeing people from the past had a way of slapping a person in the face with useless memories. She’d done all the therapy, read the books, and concluded it was simply best not to go there. No looking back, just living in the present. Where the ghosts can’t hurt you.
“I told them I’d be back.”
“What? Why?”
Joe’s big hands kneaded the rubbery steering wheel. “He’s dying. They’re starving. They live in …” He tilted his head back and examined the roof of the cab.
“Bad?”
Joe nodded. “Worse than bad.”
Whoa. Most people would cheer at seeing those who had hurt them finally get what they deserved. But apparently not Joe.
Without another word, he drove out of the lot and headed home.
Why did he care? After the way they treated him? “Sure you don’t want to talk about it?”
Joe’s eyes were black with emotion. Whatever was going through his mind was tearing him apart. He shook his head. “Talking won’t do squat. I have to do something.”
“Like what?”
He welded his eyes to the road. “I don’t know. All I know is I can’t go off and live my life and just leave them like that.”
He didn’t owe them. And he couldn’t buy their love or acceptance or whatever this was about. Yet as much as she wanted to voice her suspicions, she knew it wouldn’t do any good.
“They need to move. Somewhere safer. Healthier. They need someone to help them bathe and cook and clean so they’re not living like that.”
“Like who? You can’t do it.”
“I know.” He sighed. “I don’t know what to do.”
“I don’t mean to be callous, but why you, Joe? Aren’t there county or state agencies that can help?”
“He’s been denied for SSI so many times he’s given up. They get help with food, but it’s not enough. They can’t even take care of themselves, Sue. You should have seen—” He shook his head. “No. I wouldn’t want you to see that.”
An image of her mom came to mind. On-again-off-again Mom. Unpredictable, unreliable, either missing or holed up for weeks with the curtains drawn. Little Suzy hiding out alone and not bathing for weeks. With a shudder, she remembered the fear, the hunger, the waiting for someone to come take care of her. And the dull realization that no one would.
“Sorry, Sue. I didn’t mean to drag you into this. You have enough problems of your own. You don’t need to hear this stuff.”
“I lived like that,” Sue said quietly. “We went for weeks without food and electricity. Sometimes my mom would leave me with people—usually strangers—when she was sober enough to realize I wasn’t eating. Once, we lived with a halfway decent guy who tried to help by paying her bills and taking care of us, but she got some crazy idea he was stealing from her, so she yanked me out of bed in the middle of the night and we took off.”
Why had she told Joe that? Maybe to relieve him of any worry that he’d exposed her to things too horrible to imagine.
As if he could. That stuff was only the tip of the iceberg.
Joe nodded. “Yeah, that’s it.”
“What?”
“Something I can do.” He turned to her. “Before I leave for the Gulf, I’ll find them another place to live. I’ll be making more than enough on the next job to cover their rent and utilities. I’ll hire someone a couple days a week to help. Clean, cook, bring food, get medicine, take them to the doctor. That’s what I’ll do.”
Sue’s mouth fell open.
“You probably think I’m crazy.” His voice was barely audible. “Maybe I am. All I know is I’ll go crazy if I don’t do something.”
She couldn’t tear her gaze from the man beside her. You confuse the daylights out of me. Who are you?
Joe turned to her. “What? Spill it. What are you thinking?”
She scanned the barren terrain beyond him. “I’m thinking … I wish we’d known someone like you when my mom and I were struggling to make it.”
He focused on the long, empty highway ahead, his profile impossible to read. “So do I, Sue. So do I.”
Chapter Fourteen
“We got a problem, boss.”
Sue’s eyes burned from number-crunching and the headache that threatened to turn into a migraine. “What is it?”
“Come see for yourself.”
Sue followed Bertie outside to the barn and past the goats to the long stalls in the ba
ck where the fundraiser items were being stored.
Bertie swung one gate wide and motioned Sue inside.
Stereo equipment, computer towers, bicycles, and other unidentifiable things had been disassembled and heaped into a jumbled pile.
“Chaz …” Sue spun and limped toward the house, Bertie trailing. But on the way, her steps slowed. It wouldn’t do any good to talk to the boy now. Even if he could put the stuff back together, he couldn’t possibly do it in time for the sale. She stopped and turned to Bertie. “Do you know where Joe is?”
“It’s Sunday.” Bertie tossed a nod in the direction of the chapel on the hill. “I’m decades older than you, so don’t tell me you can’t hear that.”
Faint strains of baritone drifted across the compound.
She headed up to the chapel. With any luck, Joe could put the jumbled things back together. And maybe while he was at it, he could keep Chaz too busy to take anything else apart.
As she reached for the door handle, a rustling came from the sagebrush and she stiffened. What could that be?
Ringo bounded out of the brush, his whole body wagging, coat matted with crinkly sage and cheatgrass husks.
Goofball. Sue chuckled and rubbed his ears. More movement in the brush stilled her hand on the dog’s head. “Who’s there?”
Jasmine poked out from behind the small building, also speckled with twigs and bits of sagebrush.
“Jas? What are you doing?” And with the dog that sent you into a panic fit? “Are you okay?”
She nodded. “Me and Ringo listen to J-man sing.” Jasmine tilted her head and watched the dog, who now appeared to be sniffing out the trail of a critter.
Sue was at a loss as to which bit of information to process first. “So … you and Ringo are tight now, huh?”
Jasmine nodded. “He like music too.”
“Music?” Sue’s brows rose. “Really. I did not know that.” She smiled. “I need to talk to J—I mean, Mister Joe. Maybe you and Ringo could go see if Miss Roberta needs help?”
As the sound of singing drifted from the chapel, Jasmine smiled the broadest smile Sue had ever seen on the girl.
The sound of Joe’s rich voice grew in a steadily rising melody.
Instead of going back to the house, Jasmine took Sue’s hand and towed her to the chapel door. They tiptoed inside.
The building had been transformed. Where heaps of furniture once filled the small room, six short wooden benches, cleaned and polished, sat in three rows with a center aisle between them. A cross hung in the middle of the far wall, with two tall, narrow windows on either side letting in warm rays of midday sun.
And there was Joe, his back to them, kneeling at the foot of the cross.
Sue stilled.
Jasmine held a finger to her lips and eased herself onto a bench.
Sue had little choice but to join her.
Joe lifted wide, outstretched arms as if he was getting ready to give someone a big hug. His mellow voice filled the room in a deep, solemn refrain. “Nothing compares to You … to Your unfailing love …”
Oh. Private moment. Awkward.
“My heart cries out … All I need is You …”
She held her breath, though she had no idea why.
Jasmine closed her eyes.
“My life belongs to You … I give You everything.”
The depth of emotion in his voice gathered in her center like a sucker punch, set her heart pounding. She had never heard anyone sing like that. Ever.
How could anyone—especially a big, strong guy like Joe—sing of his need for God with such abandon, such passion?
In two swift moves, she slipped past Jasmine and hurried out. When she was a couple yards down the path, the chapel door banged against the outer wall, startling her.
“Miss Susan!” Jasmine hollered. “You want to talk to J-man?”
Sue winced and turned. Joe had to have heard that. “No, it’s okay, he’s busy. I can talk to him later—”
Joe appeared behind Jasmine and stepped out. “Hey. I was just, uh—want to come in?”
Sue couldn’t find her voice. Or remember why she’d come. All she knew was that she needed to get some distance from … whatever that was.
Jasmine spied Ringo and took off after him, calling his name.
“I’m glad you’re here, Sue,” Joe said. “I want to show you something.”
“You know, it’s your day off, I shouldn’t be bothering you. I’ll just catch you later.”
Joe rubbed his clean-shaven jaw. Along with new jeans and boots, he was wearing a pale blue button-down shirt that contrasted very nicely with his dark eyes and hair.
Joe Paterson cleaned up nice. Real nice.
“Unless you’re in a hurry, I’d really like you to see this. It’ll just take a sec. Wait here.” Joe went inside the chapel and returned a minute later carrying a large, flat board about three feet high by eight feet long in the shape of an arch. He turned it around and held it up in front of him.
My Father’s House was written in wide, white lettering on a dark green background.
“Cool, huh? It’s still here.” Joe lowered the sign and flashed a dimpled grin.
“Yeah. The old owners left a few things behind. They keep turning up.”
Joe rested the sign at his feet. “It was in the attic above the chapel. I know it’s just plywood, but I got a little choked up when I saw it. Brings back good memories.”
Sue smiled. “I’m glad your memories here were good, Joe.”
“They were. I was wondering …” Joe rubbed his jaw again. “If you’re not using the chapel, I’d like to use it on Sundays. Do a service each week. Would that be all right?”
Her mind raced to recall what she knew about church services, which wasn’t much. She’d visited a church with a friend once, but the idea of God hovering nearby when people prayed, eavesdropping on their thoughts, had creeped her out, and she never went back. “Depends. What do you mean by ‘service’?”
His eyes lit. “For the kids and staff. And you, if you’ll come.” He bent and wiped dust from the sign.
“Kids?” Sue pictured her dysfunctional, vulnerable teens in here singing his songs with the same abandon, telling God they needed Him.
No. What they needed was to learn how to survive on their own in a cruel, complicated world. Same way she had.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Yeah, maybe you’re right.” He straightened, brushed dust from his hands, and looked her in the eye. “Going to church might teach them some bad habits.”
The man really enjoyed mocking her. “All right. What do you do in there, anyway?”
Joe shrugged. “Sing, pray, read the Bible. Spend time listening to God. That’s about it.”
She eyed him. How did he know it was really God he was hearing? And more importantly, what kinds of things did God say?
Joe’s face stayed relaxed, calm. Yet eager.
Why was she always the one playing the party pooper? “Let me think about it, okay? I mean, you’re welcome to use it, but the kids …” How should she phrase her fears to Joe? “I don’t want them getting confused.” She checked to see if Jasmine was out of earshot and lowered her voice. “I don’t want to get their hopes up in one more person who won’t be there for them.”
Like the time I was locked in my room for days with half a box of corn flakes and a coffee can for a toilet and I’d heard on TV that Jesus saves so I wrote a note and slipped it under the door asking Jesus to save me, but He didn’t come.
No one came. It wasn’t until a bus driver saw the bruises a week later that two ladies from social services came and took me away.
The memory hit her like a cannonball.
Joe was watching her intently, the My Father’s House sign propped against his legs.
No thanks. Lifting her chin, she said, “Use the chapel if you want. But you can scrap that sign. Use it to start a bonfire or something. I have no use for it.” She spun an
d headed for the house.
“Sue?”
She stopped.
Joe was already at her side. “You okay?”
Far too aware of his nearness, she forced her voice steady. “I’m fine.”
“Did you want me?”
Those words in that deep tone set off a weird flutter in her chest. Want you? What have you been smokin’? Where’d you get an idea like that?
Oh yeah, Chaz. Fundraiser.
“Yes, I almost forgot.” She explained the problem with Chaz and the dismantled sale items and her need for things to be in working order as soon as possible.
He wore a pained look. “Wow. I’m really sorry for not paying closer attention to the boy. Yeah, I’ll fix it right away.”
“And I don’t know how, but could you keep him busy? So he doesn’t find anything else to take apart? At least until we get through the fundraiser.”
Joe didn’t answer. Instead, the crease in his brow softened, and his eyes wore a strange expression. Like his wheels were turning. “Sure,” he said slowly. “There’s just one thing.” His eyes locked with hers. “A condition.”
That did not sound good. “Which is?”
Joe rubbed his chin. “I’ll keep Chaz busy if you agree to take a day off. Away from the ranch. You don’t have to plan anything. I’ll take care of it.”
“You’ll take care of it? What is that supposed to mean?”
He didn’t answer.
Her voice rose. “You want me to do something with you?”
Joe nodded.
“Like a date?”
“No, no. Just … an outing. Just for fun. When was the last time you took a day off?”
“Last week. Three times. You were there for two of them, remember? I’ve left the ranch more times in the last two weeks than I have in the last two years.”
He shook his head. “Physical therapy doesn’t count. It has to be fun.”
“Hey, I have fun.”
“You?” Joe belted out a laugh. “Name the last fun thing you did.”
Her headache spiked. “Well, it’s not like I can just—”
“I know, when you’re not running yourself into the ground, you’re all fun, all the time.” His eyes narrowed. “Name one fun thing you’ve done in the last year.”